


Hunger

by TonyStankandPetieBoi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Gen, Grossed Out Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Possession, Sad Sam Winchester, Sick Sam Winchester, amateur surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27253366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TonyStankandPetieBoi/pseuds/TonyStankandPetieBoi
Summary: Sam is gradually becoming skinnier and skinnier, even with the amount of food he’s consuming. Something’s killing him slowly, and Sam and Dean don’t know what it is.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37
Collections: Supernatural Eldritch Bang





	Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> If you have problems with overeating or lots and lots of blood, i shouldn’t read this if i were you. There are a lot of mentions of eating excess amounts of food, if that triggers you, don’t read this. People’s mental health is important.
> 
> A great wonderful amazing person named [Fledhyris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fledhyris/pseuds/Fledhyris) beta’ed this for me. She helped me a lot while writing this and she deserves credit for fixing all my mistakes😉😂  
> 

He found himself in the kitchen; he couldn’t fathom why this would be the room he’d want to go to. He didn’t eat half his body weight in food like his brother, he didn’t even understand why he was hungry. He never snacked, he stuck to three meals a day, and if he got hungry he would drink coffee. Sam was as befuddled as his stomach, which chose that particular moment to stage a grumble of protest. He was overcome with starvation, he was instantly ravenously hungry. Nothing could satisfy the hunger, he stumbled blindly towards the stocked fridge. He almost ripped the door off its hinges, in his haste to feed himself. 

There was food on every shelf, Dean had saved donuts from yesterday’s hunt. The wafting smell of five day old cheeseburger made him both nauseous and ravenously hungry. He didn’t want to eat it, but his stomach said yes. He grabbed it, tearing off the grease soaked wrapper and shoving it in his mouth. His teeth bit down into the succulent meat, he felt sick, he wanted to stop. But he couldn’t, he was so hungry; it was gone instantly. The burger sat uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. 

He didn’t expect the tears that slid down his face, as he grabbed the box of donuts. He tore the lid off, sliding one after another into his mouth. He slipped down the door of the fridge, the carnage laid out around his legs. Boxes and wrappers and plastic bags, scattered all over the floor. His hands filthy with ketchup and sugar, crumbs from the piece of pie in the fridge dusting the front of his flannel. He’d eaten all of it, the fridge was empty. The tears kept coming, sliding down his neck and onto his shirt. He let his hands fall to the floor at his sides, all the energy he had, now gone. His stomach still felt empty, and so did his soul. He was disgusted with himself, he was supposed to be healthy. He was eating like a pig, covered in the very morsels he was supposed to survive on.

He panicked, not wanting Dean to find out what he’d done and be disgusted with him. He cleaned up, picking up all the trash and shoving it in the trashcan. He cleaned his shirt, wiping all the crumbs off and cleaning his hands. He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror; he looked gaunt. His eyes were sunken in, the flush of embarrassment he sported the only spot of colour on his face. He looked pale, just skin stretched across bone. He still felt so hungry, but he’d eaten every bit of food in the fridge. His stomach still felt hollow and empty. It grumbled at him as he walked out of the bathroom and towards his bedroom, passing Dean’s on the way. He didn’t bother to look in, he just walked past, ashamed of himself. He picked his wallet up off his bedside table. Slipping on his jacket, he walked to Dean’s room; knocking on the door he slithered in. 

Dean smiled up at him from where he lay on the bed watching Game of Thrones. Sam couldn’t smile back, he avoided eye contact. Looking at the floor, he mumbled, “I need to use the car.” 

“What for, you going for a joy ride, gonna do some drifting?”

“No, supply run,” Sam replied, avoiding the invitation to explain. 

“The fridge is stocked dude, I filled her myself. Even added that veggie bacon you seem to love so much. The real bacon’s still in there though, I need my meat Sammy.” Dean’s face was deadly serious but a playful light was in his gaze.

Sam rolled his eyes, lip twitching as his jaw tightened, sending a glare Dean’s way before replying. “That’s great, keys?” His tone gave no sign that he had any intention of explaining.

Dean sighed, pushing up on the bed, grasping the cold keys in one calloused hand and leaning over to drop them in Sam’s palm. “You know the drill.”

Sam nodded firmly, “If i crash her, don’t come back.” He rolled his shoulders and clenched his jaw, and his fingers twitched slightly, making the keys jingle in his grip.

Dean nodded back, sliding his butt back onto the covers, hands hovering in his lap where he had them clenched around his headphones. A thought came to him and he turned his head up to Sam, a cocky smile on his face. “One more thing and you can be on your merry way—get pie.” 

Sam nodded again, his body already turning towards the door, the slam as it shut making him clench his eyes shut. Sighing, he made his way out of the bunker. 

Dean sat still on the bed, confused as to why Sam had had an outburst like that. He was worried about Sam, he’d been getting skinnier, paler. He looked so unhealthy he was surprised that Sam was still standing. He slammed the laptop shut, sliding his feet over the edge and standing on bowed legs. Pulling on his slippers and Men of Letters robe, he idled into the hallway, his slippers sliding on the shiny floor. The kitchen was clean and tidy when he got there, cleaner than it had been earlier. The bin was overflowing and he stooped down to look inside. He was shocked to see all of the wrappers and containers for the food that he’d put in the fridge. Walking to the refrigerator, he opened the door; it was empty. The shelves were bare, the only evidence that things had sat on them were crumbs and the odd wrapper. Dean spun around, confusion evident on his face. He stumbled mindlessly back to his room, closed the door and sat down on his bed. He contemplated what the hell had happened as he waited for Sam to return from getting supplies.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The glare from the overhead lights burned Sam’s eyes. He hadn’t bothered to think of a list of things they’d need. He was still hungry, his stomach grumbling. It had started to cramp, he was so hungry. He just picked things off the shelves, he didn’t think about what might be necessary. He selected chocolate bar after chocolate bar, stuffing the basket full of fatty foods. He’d added so many packets of chips, he’d added bottles of syrup, bags of sugar, sticks of butter and lard, and instead of buying one pie, he bought three: cherry, pecan and blueberry. Not thinking of whether Dean would love them once.

The basket was overflowing, but he was still packing. People had started to watch, sneaking looks out the corner of their eyes. Sam wasn’t paying them any attention, too focused on feeding the ever present hunger. The insatiable desire for sustenance. When he went to pay for the mountain of food, he was blasted out of his daze. The amount of food in the basket made him shiver in disgust, the price coming to over $100. He almost let a tear slip down his cheek in frustration. Turned his back on the woman at the counter. He couldn’t have left the store quick enough.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean was broken out of his thinking by the bunker door slamming shut, and Sam’s large feet padding down the stairs. Dean stood up, putting his robe on again, sliding his slippers onto his feet. He padded out towards the library, trying to stop Sam before he could get to the kitchen. Sam was carrying bags full of food, they were overflowing with items. Dean stepped in front of him. “You got my pie Sammy?” 

Sam sighed, “Yeah.” Dropping the bags onto the library table, he dug his large hands through the contents, pulling out the pies and handing the three of them to Dean.

“Thanks Sammy, you definitely know the way to a man’s heart.” Dean placed his hand on his chest mockingly.

Sam frowned for a second, as if deep in thought. “On second thought, no,” he said, taking the top two off the pile and shoving them back in the bags. “One’s enough, three would probably give you a heart attack.” He smiled with faked kindness. Picking up the bags he shoved past Dean so he could get to the kitchen.

Dean scoffed in feigned shock, “Oh, come on Sammy, stop being so uptight! Just because you can’t enjoy the finer things in life doesn’t mean I can’t, I’m not a health freak like you.” 

Sam laughed mirthlessly, “Well someone’s gotta make sure you eat healthily; if it isn’t you, it’s gotta be me.”

Dean scrunched up his face in disgust. “You can’t make me eat rabbit food Sammy, I’ll just stick to pie.” He smiled, pulling the pie in and flipping the lid. Closed his eyes in contentment as he breathed in the smell of pastry and fresh cherries. 

Sam just rolled his eyes, back hunching as he continued on his way to the kitchen, unsettled by the extra weight in his hands from the shopping bags.

Sam sighed as he placed the last piece of food on the top shelf, then he turned, shifty eyes searching out for anyone that might be watching. He found no one, and turning back around he snatched up a chocolate bar, a bottle of syrup, a couple of packets of chips and a bar of lard. He quickly shut the fridge, as quietly as possible. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he rushed out of the kitchen, arms full of food. He sneaked his way through the hallways, pressing his back up against the wall when he approached a corner. Dean’s bedroom door was shut again, no sound was coming from behind the door. He sneaked past, feet making no sound, but knew he faced a problem as soon as his own door was in his view. He had no idea how he was going to open the door, then the idea came to him rather quickly. He shoved the bottle of syrup into the waistband of his jeans, the chocolate bar into his back pocket. With one hand free he twisted the knob, pushing it open and slipping inside, as quiet as was possible with arms full of chips. 

He let his body relax onto the bed, all energy drained after the nerves running through him made his limbs tremble. He laid the food out on the bed, pulling the syrup out of his waistband and the chocolate bar out of his pocket. Just the smell of the chocolate bar made his stomach growl, but he tried to hold back. Leaving the food on the bed, he shuffled towards the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror; the shock of seeing how pale his skin was had dissipated.

He relieved himself, flushing the toilet and wincing when his stomach rumbled once again, a sharp pain lancing through his abdomen. The urge became too strong, he wasn’t aware of what he was doing. He was in a daze, animal-like, no inhibitions, just hunger.

He ate voraciously, guzzling syrup and munching chips. The flavour combinations didn’t matter, it didn’t matter that they were disgusting, nor the fact that they almost made him throw up. It was food, and food was good, food was the only thing that mattered, the only word going through his head. His stomach was a beast, with limitless hunger, insatiable; never filled, never satisfied. It made Sam shiver with fear, he didn’t know what was wrong with him, he wanted it to stop. But he couldn’t. He devoured the chocolate bar in two bites, the lard already calling to him. Fingers slip-slid through the already half melted greasy block of fat. He sucked them, never missing a drop. His mouth was greasy and his hands were shaking; he felt sick. He gagged, hands coming up to cover his mouth. He ran to the bathroom, retching into the toilet. He felt the bile in his stomach bubbling, he could hear his stomach gurgling. He gagged again, but nothing came up; he felt a pain in his abdomen, pushing downwards, almost as if it was pulling his stomach down. 

He grasped at his shirt, fingers fisting in the fabric, pulling until the buttons pinged across the ceramic basin. Shirt ripping open, skin exposed, he looked down, his stomach muscles spasming with the pain. He gagged at the sight of his stomach, skin stretched across something _pushing._ His stomach bulged out, he could hear it screeching, he could feel it pushing and scraping at his insides. Tears slid down his face, cooling his flaming cheeks. His mouth was wide open, retching into the toilet. It felt like a tug of war: every time he retched, the food trying to escape through his gullet, the shape, the _thing_ pushing at his stomach, pulled back. It needed the food, it couldn’t let it be wasted; it was feeding off him, he knew it was.

He was cleaning up, washing his hands in the basin when he heard the voice in his head.

_You won’t remember this Sam, you are not needed. You are my vessel, you feed me. I am grateful, but you will need to die, when the time is right, when I am at full strength. Forget this…_

Sam’s eyes glowed a bright white, his body tensing. The white faded, his eyes back to their normal sunflower. Sam sighed, he stared down confusedly, “Why’s my shirt open?” He murmured to himself. He frowned, his eyes travelling up until he could survey himself in the mirror. His eyes were still gaunt, maybe even more so than earlier. He felt light, skinny, like skin stretched over bones. He brought his hand down to his stomach. Feeling the skin absentmindedly, he could feel his ribs through it. He couldn’t remember anything that had happened since he had been wolfing down the food he’d snuck into his room.

He stuffed all of the rubbish into the bin in the corner of his room. Stuffing it as far down as possible, so that wandering eyes wouldn’t be able to see it. Relaxing into his bed felt like the best thing that had happened all day. His sleep clothes felt baggier on him, his sleep pants slipping down his waist. He felt drained of all energy, he melted into the mattress, burrowing himself into the covers. His eyes slipped shut. He fell asleep, not aware of the _thing_ , pushing at his stomach as he slept.

He didn’t want to have to get up, the alarm blaring in his ears. He slammed his hand onto the phone to shut it up. He couldn’t press the button, he grasped at it, finally picking it up. He chucked it across the room, not even flinching at the noise it made as it hit his desk with a resounding crack. He was so tired, he just pulled the covers up over his head. He let himself fall back into unconsciousness. He was pulled from sleep by the loud banging on his door. It was flung open, light flooding the room, bathing him in an artificial glow. Footsteps approached the bed, he felt a hand nudge his shoulder. “Sammy! Wake up! If you’re up quick enough you can have some of the pancakes I made.” Sam’s stomach rumbled at the word pancakes, Dean chuckling as he left the room.

Dean’s eyes almost bulged out of his head when Sam walked into the kitchen. He looked terrible, his eyes sunken in, his skin so white there wasn’t even a hint of colour. He’d put clothes on, his belt being done up even tighter. His clothes looked baggy, he’d been losing weight and Dean had noticed. He’d been steadily getting skinnier, his appetite growing as if he were being starved. Sam didn’t even pay him any attention, walking straight for the table and the stack of warm pancakes. Sam sat down and picked up the stick of butter, not even cutting a small piece off he just put the whole thing on the top. Stared ravenously at the butter as it melted into the food. He picked up the bottle of syrup; he didn’t drizzle a little bit on the top, he drowned the stack in syrup. Dean didn’t know whether to be disgusted, shocked, or proud that Sam had decided to pick up his own eating habits. It was decided for him when Sam, instead of picking up the knife and fork he’d carefully laid out for him, just stuck his fingers into the pancakes, fingers sliding through the melted butter on the plate. He tore pieces off, shoving them into his mouth. Pulling apart the stick of butter and placing pieces in between his lips. Absolutely devouring the pancakes, when he was finished he looked like he had a dazed look on his gaze. Hungry, even though he had grease from the butter slathered across his lips and dripping down his chin. Crumbs from the pancakes covering his shirt. Syrup sticky fingers slid through the mess on the plate, he brought them up and began to suck. 

Dean almost left to throw up, his stomach queasy as he watched his health freak of a brother eat like an animal. Dean didn’t recognise the Sam that sat in front of him. He rushed forward, pushing Sam back in the chair. He gripped the plate, pulling it away from the table. Sam jumped at him, “No!” He clawed at his shirt, pulling at his clothes, trying to get the plate back. He was starving, he needed the plate. His fingers were clean now, he didn’t have any food left to eat.

“Sam, stop, dude, I know rabbit food makes you hungry, but I didn’t think it’d make you this hungry!” He chucked the plate into the sink, pulling Sam back by the arm to stop him from getting to it. Sam struggled, Dean struggling even harder to hold him back. Sam wouldn’t stop, as skinny and as pale as he was, he seemed stronger than he had been before. Dean gave up, letting him go, and Sam scrambled to the sink, picking up the plate and starting to lick and suck.

Dean just stood in shock, he had never imagined that this could happen. Sam sat on the floor, all the contents of the fridge splayed out on the floor around him. Sam munched on all of it, even going as far as to eat the wrappers. Dean lost the war with his stomach, gagging he ran for the sink and threw up. Bile hitting the aluminium sink, he turned the tap on, washing the vomit away as he gagged. He tried so hard to get the image of Sam out of his head. He stepped back, turning the tap off and wiping his mouth. Sam was still sitting on the floor, his back to the fridge, he was still eating. Dean leant down, grasping Sam’s wrists he stopped him from eating any more. Sam fought, pulling uselessly at Dean’s hands. “Stop!” Dean growled, their eyes met and Sam paled, even with how pale he already was. Sam panicked, sliding backwards, pushing himself into the door of the fridge. He pushed all of the food off his lap, scattering it across the room. Dean let go of his wrists, “Calm down Sammy, there’s no need to panic, I’m not a clown.” Smiling cockily, carefully hiding his panic. 

Tears rolled down Sam’s cheeks, he was hyperventilating. His hands covered in food and his mouth drenched with syrup and butter. His breaths came harsh and uneven, he couldn’t breathe. His stomach grumbled, forcing a cry of despair from his lips. He wanted it to stop, he didn’t want to be hungry anymore.

“You have to breathe Sammy.” 

Sam gasped, air filling his lungs, as he backed up even further, away from the pile of food. “I’m sorry!” He cried out as his breathing returned to normal, tears falling down his cheeks. 

He felt the pain in his stomach and cried out. Looking down, he could see it already making his shirt bulge out. He pulled at his shirt, ripping it open, the thing was pushing at his skin.

It screeched, its voice spinning around in his head, _Sam, eat. I need food, I’ll get it either way. Believe me. Dean cannot know, neither can you._ That was all the warning he got before his eyes turned white, the creature taking a hold of his body. “I need food Dean, you will not stop me.” Dean stumbled backwards, Sam’s eyes a pearly white. He almost slipped in the syrup spilled on the floor, as Sam pushed up from the ground. Sam approached Dean, a menacing smile on his face. He backed up until his back was flush with the wall, Sam’s hand came up to his forehead, fingers pressing into the skin. “Forget” was the only thing he heard from Sam’s lips before he blacked out. 

His eyes blinked open, surveying his surroundings as he woke up. He found himself lying on his bed, the covers under him, still clothed. His boots tangled with the covers as he moved to sit up, groaning as his back twinged. He couldn’t fathom why he was only waking up at twelve in the morning, he didn’t wake up that late. He wasn’t an early bird, but he still got up at a reasonable hour. He could taste the remnants of bile, not knowing when he’d thrown up. 

He stood, the bed creaking as he lifted his weight from it. His door was shut, the only light coming from under it. Another one of the disadvantages to living underground, no natural light. His door creaked as he swung it open. Sam wasn’t in the hallway, not that he had expected him to be. He wandered mindlessly through the corridors in order to find his brother. He was in the kitchen, standing by the fridge. Eyes staring sightlessly into the cold space, the fridge looked bare. A couple of things placed here and there, oddly suspicious to the hunter inside him. “I didn’t think the fridge was that pretty, maybe you should ask her on a date. You’d have a lot to talk about, the both of you being stocked full of rabbit food.” His face scrunched up in disgust at the thought of being so healthy.

The reaction was instantaneous, Sam snapped his head around, his eyes blinking as if he’d just awoken from a deep sleep. His eyes darted around the room as if he had no idea where he was, then finally settled on Dean. “What?” Sam backed up to the fridge, his back slamming into the fridge door, he whipped around so fast Dean thought he’d break his spine. Sam’s hand slammed into the door, the fridge shutting with a bang. Sam started to mutter to himself, his hand coming up to press into his palm where the scar was. “This isn’t real. I’m hallucinating. I’m going crazy. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.” 

Dean strode up to him and grasped Sam’s hands firmly. Pulling them apart, he said “Stop Sammy, you aren’t hallucinating. This is real, I’m real. The devil’s gone, Sammy, he ain’t in your melon no more. Stone number one, remember.” 

Sam’s eyes darted up to his face, nodding his head he tried to pull his hands away, but Dean wasn’t having it. 

He grasped even tighter, “Okay Sammy? You have to use words.” His eyes bored into Sam’s skull.

“Yeah, I’m okay, I’m fine Dean. I’m fine.” 

Dean stared at him for a few seconds more, evaluating him like a doctor. He let go, stepping back to give Sam space. The wild look in Sam’s eyes, the disbelief, was gone. His eyes looked fairly peaceful, his breathing no longer harsh and irregular.

Sam nodded to himself, “I’m fine.” He didn’t know whether he was trying to convince Dean or himself. Before Dean could stop him, Sam was halfway to the door, muttering “I'm gonna take a shower” over his shoulder. 

The water cascaded down his back, his hands came up to thread through his hair. He sighed, his head had started to pound. Rubbing at his forehead and hoping the pain went away, his stomach grumbled. “No!” he shouted in a whisper to the empty bathroom, he could feel something with him. He didn’t know why, he wanted it to leave, he shivered. His body trembling as his stomach grumbled even louder, “NO!” he shouted. His voice rose to drown out the sound of his stomach. He tried to get out of the shower, but the floor was wet. His foot slipped and his body slammed into the wall. Pain lanced through his hands and his side, his legs buckled. Falling to the floor, he leant his back against the cold tile. He sucked in a ragged breath, shivering now that his body was no longer under the warm water. 

He’d never been scared like this before, he was a hunter, born and raised. He had to be strong, it wasn’t in his nature to be scared. He hated feeling vulnerable, but he knew that's all he was, when he looked down and saw his ribs protruding from his skin. He felt so light, he felt so weak. That’s why it shocked him, when he felt his body lifting off the ground. With a strength he didn’t have, and a move he never made. It wasn’t him moving, it made him want to throw up. Memories of Lucifer and Meg possessed him, bubbling to the surface. The feeling of no control, watching as the knife sank into Steve Wandell’s neck, blood spurting from the gaping wound. Lifeless eyes turned up to his, shock laced with pain. The feeling of his fist, slamming into Dean’s face, watching as his eyes swelled and shut. His lips bust and bleeding, his eyes filled with trust, but unimaginable sorrow. But the thing he hated most, pity. 

It wasn’t him when a towel was wrapped around his waist, it wasn’t him when boxers and jeans were pulled up his legs, it wasn’t him when the ugliest shirt he had was pulled over his shoulders and over his chest, it wasn’t him when socks and shoes were pulled onto his feet, it wasn’t him that walked to the fridge and devoured everything left. It was him that was left over, when control returned to him. When the tears rolled down his face and the sobs escaped his throat. When his resolve shattered and his spirit broke. 

The pain was gone with only a few words. _Forget Sam, it’ll all be over soon._ Weight left his shoulders, but the smile never returned to his face. 

Dean was walking through the hallway, his mind wandering. These past few days were blurry, he always found himself wondering where he was, why he was here, what he was doing. It freaked him out and he didn’t know what was going on. The bunker door slamming shut dragged him out of his thoughts, the sound of Cas’s dress shoes clomping down the stairs filled the bunker. Dean found himself walking towards Cas, he didn’t have the energy to do more than drag his feet. Cas’s trench coat was the first thing he saw as he entered the map room. “Hey Cas, how’d it go, meet any hot ladies?” 

Cas studied him, eyes surveying his face intently. “You look tired Dean, is everything okay with you and Sam?” 

Dean chuckled, voice not giving away any of his uneasiness. “Oh, me and Sammy, we’re fine. We had a slumber party, braided Sam’s hair. You shoulda been there Cas.” 

Cas frowned. “I know something’s wrong Dean, you can tell me; you don’t have to hide it from me. Whatever it is, we can deal with it.”

Dean let his eyes drift shut, body sagging backwards to sit on the stairs. He let his arms drop to his knees, head hanging down between his legs. He let a sigh escape his mouth, “How am I supposed to tell you what’s wrong if I don’t know myself?” 

Cas moved, or at least, he heard him move. Shoes clacking across the stone floor. He bent down, placing a rough, calloused hand on Dean’s shoulder. “What is it?”

Dean glanced up, eyes searching for Cas’s. “Something’s wrong.” Dean’s eyes grew dark, the unsettling fear in his gaze almost made Cas’s steely resolve shatter. “Something’s happening, with Sam. He’s getting thinner, and I'm losing time. I remember getting up, doing something, going somewhere. But then I forget, or it feels like I'm forgetting. Because one minute, I'm in the kitchen, the next I'm lying in my bed. And I stocked the fridge the other day, full to the brim. And the next day, Sam comes in saying he needs to get supplies. And all the wrappers for the food were in the bin, and I mean, he couldn’t have eaten it all, could he? That’s not like Sam, he doesn’t eat, he barely does. And if he does, it’s just rabbit food. And the fridge was stocked full of day old burgers.” He sighed, head falling to his hands again. 

Cas moved, lowering himself to sit next to Dean on the steps. “Well, maybe we should do some research. It could be a curse, or a spell, but whatever it is - we’ll find out Dean, no harm is going to come to you or your brother. I’ll make sure of that.”

Dean nodded, pulling himself up off the stairs. His back protested and he winced as he pulled on the twinging muscle. “I guess we better get to it.” 

Cas nodded, taking his hand off Dean's shoulder, pacing towards the bookshelves. He pulled down book after book, slamming them down onto the library table.

Dean followed suit, gathering piles of tomes and shoving them onto the tables. He couldn’t help but venture over to the drinks, collecting two tumblers and filling them with alcohol. He carried them to the table, slamming one down in front of Cas. He plonked himself opposite, lifting his arm and tipping his glass to Cas in salute. He gulped the bitter liquid in one go, wincing as it burned down his throat. “Let’s do this.”

Sam had stumbled to his bedroom. He felt weak again, and his head pounded with every step he took. Body slumping against the wall, he let his head rest against the bricks. Sweat rolled down his forehead, breath coming fast and uneven. He pushed up from the wall, dragging his feet across the floor to get to his bedroom. His arms hurt from when he’d fallen, pain lancing through his nerves. He let his feet drag him through the hallways to the wooden door to his room. He fiddled with the handle, hand slipping off the knob twice; he finally grasped it, hand turning the cool metal. The door swung open and he fell to the ground, body slamming onto the carpeted floor. He groaned, the pain in his chest had been reawakened when he fell to the floor. His lungs felt tight and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Gasping air in small gulps, his breath rasped in his throat. 

Making it to the bed had been a challenge, arms barely holding his weight, legs weak and trembling. He slumped onto the mattress, tremors running through his hands. He let his eyes shut as he relaxed into the bed, breath calming slightly. He’d almost fallen asleep, sleep pulling at his consciousness. 

It was the voice in his head that startled him awake. _I need food, but it’s too late for that now Sam; the time has come, I no longer need you. It’s time for you to die._ The pain was fast and unwavering, like teeth scraping across his insides. Sharp daggers cutting into his stomach, he moaned, pain lancing through his abdomen. He couldn’t breathe through the pain, throbbing and pulsing in his insides. His mouth was stuck in a silent scream as he writhed on the bed, hands clutching his stomach. Tears rolled down his face as he sobbed. He had to get to Dean, it was going to kill him.

Dean was skimming through the words, his eyes burning. He hated reading, it was boring, especially the research. He could never understand why Sam loved it so much, it was so boring, going through mountains of books searching for something he knew Sam would end up finding anyway. But this time it wasn’t Sam doing the research it was Dean, and Cas. But Cas was an angel, he could probably touch the goddamn book and be able to know what the pages said. He rubbed his eyes, blinking the black spots out of the corners. Clearing his throat he threaded his fingers through his hair, sighing. “We’re not gonna find anything, are we?” 

Cas shook his head, sending an irritated glare towards him. “We are going to find it, Dean. We will, you just have to have patience.” 

Dean groaned. “Sorry Cas, but we’re not gonna find anything; we need to help Sam, not sit here researching something that we’re never gonna find.” He hadn’t noticed that he’d picked up the book, until he felt his fingers let go and he heard the sound of the book slamming into the wall opposite him. Cas didn’t jerk out of his seat, he just contemplated him with his oceanic blue eyes.

Dean’s anger dissipated as quickly as it had come, when Sam stumbled into the room. Almost hanging off the walls, fingers splayed across the brickwork, fingertips grasping for something to hold onto. Sweat dripped down his forehead and the pained look on his face made Dean worry. Breathing rapidly, Sam moaned, clutching his stomach. He looked sicker than he had before. The skin around his eyes was practically black, the skin on his face so white it looked like bone. The veins on his face looked more pronounced and sickeningly colourful. His eyes were unfocused, pupils dilated. 

“You okay Sammy?” Dean looked wary, eyes hardened but filled with fear. Sam looked as if he were going to respond, head lifting from the wall to stare at Dean. His mouth opened, but instead of the reassurance Dean had been expecting, that he’d been hoping for, he let out a gut wrenching scream. 

Dean flinched and rushed towards his brother, hands not touching him. Hesitantly hovering in the aura of Sam’s body, he took in the way Sam’s hands rushed to his shirt, pulling at it, ripping it open and sending the buttons flying across the library. He ripped the shirt off, letting it drop to the floor, torn and useless. Dean didn’t know what to think, or what to feel, when he looked at Sam’s stomach, tears rolling down Sam's face as his hands hovered over his bulging abdomen. 

“What kind of curse _is_ this, Cas?!” Dean didn’t know what to do, he gripped Sam’s arm to keep him upright, eyes drawn to whatever was bulging out of Sam’s stomach. Cas moved faster than Dean expected, pulling Sam’s right arm over his shoulder and directing Dean to do the same. “Hold him up Dean, we’ve got to get him to the infirmary.” They walked faster than Sam seemed to be ready for, the moans escaping his mouth, pained and hysterical. 

Sam’s feet were no longer supporting him, he didn’t have the strength. The _thing_ no longer needed his body, no longer giving him strength. He was so weak, he couldn’t move his feet or his legs. They hung like jello from his waist, dragging across the floor like limp noodles. He wanted it out, the _thing_ inside of him, it needed to come out. He didn’t know how it was gonna happen, but it needed to. Dean seemed to notice the trembling in his arm; he soothed him, bringing his other hand up to rub his back. “It’ll be over soon Sammy, we’ll get it out, I promise.”

Dean sighed in relief when the stark lights of the infirmary washed over him. They dragged Sam over to the beds, lowering him to sit on one of them. Sam moaned, leaning over to clutch his stomach; Dean couldn’t help but step in, pulling Sam’s hands back away. “Don’t touch Sammy, we don’t know what it is.” Sam didn’t seem to be coherent enough to comprehend what he’d said. But he didn’t pull his hands out of his grasp so that seemed like a win for Dean. He pushed Sam to lie back. “Just try and relax Sammy, I know it hurts, but you just gotta stay calm. No point in getting worked up.” Sam only moaned, and Dean sighed; he hadn’t been expecting more than that anyway. 

Dean strolled away from the bed, walking towards the wall. “Cas, come here, we need to talk.” 

Cas walked over to him, feet silent across the floor. “What is it Dean? We need to be focusing on Sam.” He directed an angry glare towards him.

“What are we gonna do? We don’t even know what it is, let alone how to get it out!” 

Cas sighed, placing his hand on Dean’s shoulder, tuning out Sam’s pained moans. “I think I’ve heard of this before, it’s a parasite Dean. I’d seen it when we were in Purgatory, they lived in hosts for years, but the only way it could have gotten out of Purgatory is through a host. Which means, I-I must have brought it back Dean. It’s the only explanation, I mean, parasites can’t stay in angels for long or it will kill them. It must have moved onto Sam. I’m sorry Dean.” 

Dean’s eyes weren’t just filled with anger like he’d expected, but with tiredness too. “There’s no time to argue about that now, how do we get it out of him?!” Dean let his voice rise enough for Sam’s head to turn and look at them deliriously. 

Cas looked at him irritatedly. “Keep your voice down, Sam doesn’t need to hear us arguing. He’s _dying._ It’s eating its way out of him, and it won’t come out of Sam until it's eaten its way through all of his organs. Until it’s eaten its way through his skin. Until Sam’s dead. We have to cut it out, it’s the only way.” 

Dean’s eyes seemed to bulge out of his head, heart pounding in his chest as Cas’s words wheedled their way into his brain. “But, how? How can we do that without killing him Cas?” 

Cas sighed, “You have to cut it out, get it out of Sam and as far away from him as possible. And I’ll heal him. If it doesn’t work, then I’m sorry Dean, I never meant for this to happen, and I’ll do anything to make it right.” 

Dean growled, “If Sam dies, there’s nothing you can do to make it right, it’s not your fault Cas, you didn’t know. But there’s not enough time for that, we need to cut it out.” 

They moved as one, marching over to the bed. “We have to cut it out Sam, it’s the only way.” Dean notified his brother.

Sam’s eyes widened, breath catching in his throat. “No, there has to be another way, you’ll kill me!” 

Dean growled, “Yes Sam, it’s gonna hurt, but it’s the only way. I'm not gonna let you die, Cas is gonna heal you, it’s gonna be okay. I promise.”

Sam moaned, “No! Please!” 

Dean sighed, “You trust me? Right, Sammy?” 

Sam nodded curtly, moaning as the parasite moved to gnaw at another spot of his insides. 

Dean took advantage of Sam’s distraction, pulling the straps from under the bed over his chest and waist, strapping him down. Immobilising him, he strapped his wrists down as well. Placing a warm hand on Sam’s shoulder when he started to panic, breath coming fast in his throat. “It’s okay Sam, it’ll be over soon.” He stepped back slightly, undoing his belt and sliding it out of the loops. Folding it until it was the right size for Sam to bite down on. “Open up Sammy, wouldn’t want you to break those pearly whites.” 

Sam glared at him, unclenching his jaw and letting his mouth fall open. Dean gently placed the hard leather between his lips. “Bite down Sammy, it’s gonna hurt.”

Sam nodded, teeth clenched around the belt, face wincing as the parasite dug its teeth in again, sharp enamel scraping at his insides.

The pain in his stomach was unbearable. He couldn’t breathe, teeth scraping at his insides, like blades stabbing every part of his stomach. He cried out, twisting his wrists and trying to pull at the straps, “Just do it, Dean!” The words muffled through the leather in his mouth. Sam moaned as he caught Dean’s eyes, reassuring him, even with the sweat dripping down his forehead and the parasite bulging out of his stomach. He could hear Dean sigh, watched as he nodded his head, walking out of his view and around the bed to where Sam knew there were trays of surgical equipment. He started to tremble when he saw Dean come back into his field of vision, large scalpel in hand and a bunch of paper towels. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Sammy, I promise.” That was all Sam heard before he felt the sharp point of the scalpel start to press into his skin.

The bloodcurdling scream Sam let out almost made Dean drop the scalpel. But he kept going, pushing the sharp blade into the top of Sam’s abdomen, knife slicing through thin skin; Sam had lost his muscle mass a while ago. He hadn’t even been getting any food for himself, no way to keep it up. Dean winced in sympathy when he got to the muscle, sawing through the tendons and ligaments. Dean tried to be methodical about it, but there was so much blood, and somehow he just couldn’t ignore the fact that it was Sam's blood. He kept cutting, slicing through the skin and muscle all the way down to his belly button. The wound gaped, blood gushing out to pool over the bed. Dean knew now that the paper towels would do nothing to soak up the blood. 

It almost made Sam throw up, looking down at himself, to know he could see his ribs, and his stomach and liver. It made him light headed, blood loss kicking in, he couldn’t pale any further than he already had. He had stopped screaming early on; his eyes too heavy to keep open, he let them flutter shut. Letting the black abyss pull him in, body boneless on the bed.

Dean didn’t stop until he could see Sam’s ribs, he noticed the _thing_ almost at once. Sam’s stomach bulged out from the parasite; it looked big, but Dean couldn’t tell what it looked like, even though it had already gnawed a fairly big hole in the lining of Sam’s stomach. He didn’t hesitate to hook his fingers around the gooey organ, pulling until it popped out of position, slithering out from behind Sam’s liver. He didn’t want to wait a second before jabbing the scalpel into the teeth mark framed hole and expanding it to drag the thing out. The parasite was nothing like he’d expected it to look, not that he’d even had a chance to imagine it. It was grey, or at least it seemed to be, he couldn’t really see because it was covered in blood and green stomach acid. It looked like a black octopus, its body was fairly large; its legs or tentacles, whatever they were, seemed to curl and uncurl, as if ready to wrap around someone’s neck. It made Dean shiver, it looked disgusting, but it was killing Sam, and it needed to die. 

He gripped it with blood slick hands, pulling even as the tentacles curled around his palms. Squeezing hard around his wrists, it twitched, body spasming in his hold. Cas was already approaching Sam, hand outstretched over his face. He let his fingers touch Sam’s forehead and a golden glow emitted from his palm, energy floating in the air to heal his wounds, blood cells already multiplying. The wound in Sam’s stomach pulled itself back together, skin melding. Sam’s eyes flashed open, breath pulling into his lungs, chest expanding.

Dean smiled. “Hey Sammy. It’s like Alien.” 

Sam’s gaze flashed over to him, weakly scowling at him, his bitchface spectacular. 

Dean’s smile fell, “Tough crowd.” He let his eyes drop back to the task at hand, the parasite was squirming in his grip. Slithering across his palms, it was wet with Sam’s blood, squelching as it moved up his arms. Dean shivered in disgust, wrenching his arms forward to get the parasite away from him.

It happened so fast that no one was prepared. The parasite jumped for Dean, limbs pushing at Dean’s forearms. It landed on his face, the tentacles trying to slither their way inside his mouth. He tried to jerk back, feet slip sliding across the floor through the blood. He fell back, landing on his ass, and cried out “Sammy, it’s tryin’ to get in me!” He slid backwards as far as he could, feet sliding back and forth. He pushed at the parasite, arms bulging as his fingers wriggled their way underneath the parasite’s strong grip. Its mouth seemed to open, teeth clenching down on Dean’s calloused fingers. “Ow!” He whipped his fingers back away from his face, shaking them in the air as he stared at it in disdain. 

He’d only lost focus for a second before the parasite took advantage of the distraction. Tentacles already pushing his mouth open, body pushing through the gap between his lips, Dean groaned with his mouth forced open. He pushed at it even harder, struggling uselessly against the parasite’s strength. It pushed at his mouth, Dean’s eyes going wide and frightened. He tried to push back, but it didn’t work. His arms flailed uselessly at the unstoppable parasite. 

Cas moved as fast as he could, running to where Dean was sitting on the floor, back to the wall and arms pushing uselessly at the monster trying to force its way down his gullet. Cas lunged for it, hands sliding across the slippery skin, grasping it with his celestial strength. Pulling it from Dean’s face, its limbs dropped out from Dean’s mouth. Its teeth snapped, mouth opening and spitting vile smelling goo towards Dean. 

Dean grimaced at it, mouth shutting only for him to scrunch up his face, spitting out Sam’s blood. The parasite hissed at him, squirming in Cas’s grip. It tried to escape, blood covered slippery appendages curling around Cas’s palm. Squeezing and pushing, mouth opening and sliding over his fingers; teeth sharp and slicing as they bit into his flesh, drawing blood.

Dean stared at the parasite, watching as it bit into Cas’s hand, blood slipping down his palm and over his forearm. He looked on as the parasite began to suck, apparently hungry for anything, even blood. Cas tightened his grip, fingers clenching around the parasite, its body bulging through the gaps between his digits. Sam’s blood squelching against his skin, the parasite struggled weakly, not strong enough to wiggle out of Cas’s death grip. 

Power surged through Cas’s body, through his nerves and bloodstream. He focused his celestial energy into the parasite, through his fingers and into its black skin. Cas glared at the parasite, as it sank its teeth back into his flesh in a last ditch attempt to free itself. But the power was already swirling in the air, glowing around it’s form. It gave one last spasm before it exploded, body bursting into nothing but splashes of green goo, coating everything. All over Dean’s clothes and Cas’s trench coat, it was splashed up the walls as well. Sam was out of the blast zone, completely clean except for the blood already soaking into his skin and his jeans. Pooling on the floor by the bed, having dripped down as Dean was hacking his way into Sam’s body.

Dean grunted as he pushed up from the floor, hands wiping at the disgusting green goo covering his clothes. It dripped down the front of his shirt, mixing with the blood that had already sunk into the fabric. It felt disgusting and disturbing, to know that it was Sam’s blood on his clothes, on his hands and even underneath his fingernails. The goo he could wash off, but Sam’s blood had already worked itself under his skin, unnerving him and making him feel sick.

Sam still lay on the bed, struggling at his bonds in panic, wrists twisting under the straps. The belt had fallen out of his mouth, lying on the floor and soaking up blood.

Dean didn’t know when it had fallen out but he guessed it was when Sam had passed out from the blood loss.

From Dean’s hand shoved into his body in search of the thing eating him alive. Killing him faster than Sam could handle, not giving him a chance to protest or fight back. Stealing his energy and sending pain lancing through his nerves. 

Sam was glad it was over, but the panic still remained, his limbs shaking in a gentle tremor. Breath not stuck in his throat but coming faster than one would consider normal. His shirt was gone, lying on the floor in the library, the flesh of his chest and stomach exposed. Skin caked with blood, crusting the edges of his wound. It unnerved him, to have his own blood coating his skin, to know that he had just minutes before been cut open from underneath his breastbone all the way to his abdomen. Body open for everyone to view his organs. He could remember watching as Dean shoved his arms into his abdomen, feeling Dean’s fingers gripping at things inside him. Remembering the pain as Dean had gripped his stomach, pulling it out of position. 

It made him want to forget everything that had happened in the last few days, to pretend that he hadn’t had something living and growing inside him. To have had something feeding off him, stealing the food he had needed, compelling him to eat things he never would. He couldn’t remember eating any of it, but it became evident the minute he turned to the side, head hovering over the edge as he vomited, that there hadn’t been anything in his stomach at all. The parasite had stolen everything from him, his free will, his sustenance, his memories. 

Dean approached the bed, placing his hands on Sam’s wrists, stopping any movement Sam was making. “It’s okay Sammy, I’m gonna undo the straps now.” Dean did as he promised, unbuckling them and pulling them off Sam’s body. Placing his hand on Sam’s lower back for support, he helped as Sam sat up. 

Sam winced at how sore his stomach was even though Cas had healed him. Swinging his legs around and standing, they buckled, he didn’t have any strength. His body was too weak to hold him up, having gone without food or water for days. His eyes rolled up into his head, body falling slack in Dean’s hold.

When he woke up again, he was in his own bed, the remains of his broken phone still lying on his desk. He had an IV drip in his arm, the tube running up to a bag on the shelf above his bed. Dean was slumped on a chair beside his bed, head fallen to the side, resting uncomfortably on his shoulder as he drooled. Cas was there too, standing by the end of the bed, watching him. It unnerved Sam, his body jolting weakly in shock when he came into view. 

“How are you feeling Sam?” Cas moved towards the edge of the bed, a concerned look directed Sam’s way.

“I’m fine Cas, how’s Dean?” He let his head drift to the side, looking on as Dean slept.

“Dean’s fine Sam, he isn’t the one we need to worry about. You haven’t eaten or drunken in days, and you just lost several pints of blood.” Cas’s face was deathly serious, blue eyes boring into Sam’s skull.

Sam sighed, his jaw twitching. “I know that Cas, but Dean had to cut me open. You know how he feels about torture, I’m worried about him. I can’t not worry, he’s my brother, Cas.” 

Sam sighed again, pushing further up the bed on weak arms. “Cas, I was wondering; if say, the parasite made me forget things, like, it stole my memories; is it possible that you could retrieve them?”

Cas frowned. “Yes, but do you want to know what happened? Surely you wouldn’t want to remember what it made you do-”

Sam growled, interrupting Cas. “I know, I'm probably gonna hate what I'll see, that I’ll be disgusted by what it made me do. But I don’t care, okay? Do you even know what it feels like, to not be in control of your body? Do you? You don’t, you only know what it’s like to control people. But let me tell you. It’d hurt more not knowing what it did, than knowing what it did and feeling disgusted with myself.”

Cas nodded, his throat tightening as he approached the bed. “You’re sure this is what you want?” 

Sam nodded, “Yes, this is what I want.” 

Cas nodded, stretching his arm out, pressing his fingers gently to Sam’s forehead. A glow emitted from underneath them as he searched in his mind through Sam’s memories, digging out the ones the parasite had hidden, bringing them to the forefront of Sam’s mind. 

Sam gasped at the onslaught of memories, remembering the time in the bathroom, the way his skin had bulged out, the parasite pushing at his skin, and pulling at his stomach as he’d tried to throw up. Remembering when he’d scoffed down pancakes and eating the stick of butter, sucking his fingers and licking the plate. Remembering as it had taken over his body, making him put clothes on, forcing him to eat the contents of the fridge.

His body bucked weakly as he rolled to the side, gagging, only throwing up bile because of his empty stomach.

Dean had woken up at some point and now rushed to Sam’s side, placing a soothing hand on his back as he vomited. “You okay Sammy?” 

Sam moaned weakly in response, his body no longer regurgitating fluid. He rolled onto his back again, body sagging into the bed, eyes fluttering shut as he fell asleep. 

Dean was still by his bed the next time Sam woke up, and he’d dragged the chair closer to the bed this time. Cas was gone too, the only sign that he had even been here was the memories floating around in his head. He hadn’t wanted to remember, but he knew he had to. The last time he’d not been in control of his body, he’d almost killed Dean; he needed to know if he’d hurt anyone. He hadn’t expected that the parasite would have made him, but he needed to know. 

Sam had only been awake for a couple of minutes, fascinated with the spot on the edge of the ceiling. Trying very hard to ignore the rumble his stomach made, when Dean woke up. Neck cracking as he lifted his head from where he’d been resting it on the bed. “You okay now Sammy? I know you didn’t have anything left to throw up, but how’s your stomach?”

Sam weakly rolled his head towards Dean, letting their eyes meet. “It’s empty, and it’s rumbling, because I'm hungry.” His face paled at that, stomach choosing to gurgle instead, stomach acid bubbling, slowly rising up his throat. He leant over, letting his stomach expel its contents, still only bile. 

Dean sighed, letting his hand slide up Sam’s back. “Ya need to stop throwin’ up, Sammy.”

Sam groaned, letting himself fall back to the mattress, body tired from the stomach spasms. “I can’t help it Dean. Every time I shut my fuckin’ eyes, I see what the parasite made me do, that it made me eat the whole fridge, how it made me a stranger in my own body. Just along for the ride. And let me tell you Dean, I hate it, I hate not being in control of my body; not being able to say no, not being able to stop myself when they make me do things I don’t want to. And it makes me sick Dean, it makes me throw up, to know _this_ , this body, it'll never belong to me. You know who it belongs to? Lucifer, it belongs to him; it belonged to that parasite, it belonged to Meg, it belonged to our Dad; it belonged to everyone _but_ me.” 

Dean’s eyes filled with sympathy, shoulders relaxing from the rigid position he’d held them in when he’d seen Sam was throwing up. He reached his arm out, letting his hand rest on Sam’s shoulder. “Sammy.” His words were full of pity, of nothing but sadness. 

Sam turned his head, letting his head sink into the soft pillow. “I just want it to stop, I don’t wanna be hungry anymore, I just want it to stop.” 

Dean sighed, hand sliding down his arm. “Just rest Sammy, It’ll all be better when you wake up, I’ll make sure of it.” 

Dean called Cas, eyes watching over the tall form laid in the bed, the IV fluid already having been drained into Sam’s body. The colour had come back to his cheeks; it’d take time for the weight to come back, for him to build the muscles back up, but Dean was happy that Sam wasn’t white as a sheet, skin over bone. He looked healthier than he had done yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that. 

Cas approached the bed, watching as Dean stared down at his brother, none of the emotions he felt showing on his face. Masking his emotions, protecting himself. Cas sighed. “I knew letting him remember was a bad idea, I shouldn’t have let him persuade me.” 

Dean scowled. “It’s what he wanted; even if he knows it’s not good for him, you do it anyway. But it doesn’t matter what he asked, not right now, not when I know it’s breaking him, mentally and emotionally.”

Cas nodded, “If you think it would be best for him, then I could erase the memories. I could take away anything about the parasite.” He approached the bed, arm outstretched for the second time, letting the golden glow emit from his fingers. 

Dean’s face was serious as he stared at Cas. “No, you’ve already done enough, I don't want you messing with his head. I'm not letting you touch him, especially when it’s Sam’s choice. He gets to decide if you take them away; he’s already broken enough as it is, I don’t need you breaking him even more.”

Drawing his hand back, Cas lowered his head to his chest. “I hope you’ll forgive me for all of this Dean. I didn’t mean to do it, I hope you know that.” 

Dean nodded, “I know Cas.” He let his head turn, staring down at Sam, Cas’s presence all but forgotten. 

Sam’s face looked so peaceful in sleep, even with the looming issue of how to get him to eat properly again. It would be a long battle, but Dean knew they’d make it, stroking his hand gently across Sam’s forehead, brushing the stray strands of hair from his face. They’d make it, they’d make it together, through the stomach rumbles and stocking up the fridge, through the nightmares, through everything; they’d make it together, in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed, if you did, leave a comment and tell me what bit you liked best?😉😁😊


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